


(say my name)

by starsqwub



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsqwub/pseuds/starsqwub
Summary: Byleth is unfamiliar with looking forward to things. Luckily Claude is there to teach her how.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 100





	(say my name)

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVE CLAUDELETH, THAT IS ALL

She was the Ruler of Dawn and he was the King of Almyra, but while lying in their bed in Derdriu, they were just who they’ve always been—Byleth and Claude. Outsiders to all, save for each other.

And tomorrow they’d finally be married.

Byleth wrinkled her nose at the thought.

Claude laughed, voice partly muffled through his pillow. She so rarely _made faces_ , as he put it, like the kinds Hilda would pull at Garreg Mach when there were chores to be done. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts,” Claude said with a little grin, reaching to brush a finger down the length of her bangs and the bridge of her nose.

“I hear Lorenz is still single...” Byleth mused as his finger met her lips, withdrawing another hearty laugh from Claude into his pillow.

“Be nice, my love,” he scolded, and then, with a wink: “We can share him. There’s plenty of Gloucester to go around.”

Byleth gave a nearly indiscernible smile with her eyes in return; her mind was still on the wedding. It had been several long, blessedly boring months since Byleth last used the Divine Pulse to bend and pick at the flow of time. She’d never known a peace like this in all her life—a peace like, laying beside the one you love and laughing into pillows night after night, with no need to _savor_ , or to _restrain_. But with her wedding day now sitting just beyond her grasp, Byleth felt an entirely unfamiliar itch to step forward in time, rather than back; she wished to blink through the hours and arrive at the alter. She ached for it.

“I feel,” Byleth said, and her eyes searched for words along the folds of linen sheets bundled between them while Claude waited, fully content, still stroking soft lines down her nose with his finger, “...impatient.”

A smile grew slowly along Claude’s lips, so airy and buoyant that it lifted his head from his pillow. (This expression was one she’d seen him make throughout the years, stretching back to their time at the monastery, though Byleth only recently came to know it for its true name— _affection_.) “Yeah?” Claude said. “Tell me more about that.”

He propped himself up on one elbow in bed, and Byleth mirrored him. She chewed on her lip and stared at the space just below Claude’s sly mouth, because he was looking at her with that complete and total focus of his—a focus that disarmed her far more easily than any weapon could. “I have an applicable example from today, actually,” she started, tapping her chin with her finger.

Claude pinched the shirt fabric gathered at Byleth’s waist and tugged. “Mm. You are very, very sexy. Did you know that?”

The eye roll she gave him was so dry, it was surely divined in part by Sothis. “Claude.”

“You’re such a _teach_ , Teach. You know how that undoes me completely.” He pecked a light kiss on her forehead. “Alright, tell me your example.” His eyes were gentle, though his grin still curled a bit wickedly.

Byleth shoved him playfully. “You’re a menace.” He winked in reply (and oh, how she loved him). “Well. As you know, Seteth has been beside himself with plans for the ceremony tomorrow; it has to be perfect, and strike an appropriate balance,” and Byleth tilted her nose high and attempted her best Seteth impression, her brows knit with just the slightest taste of disdain: _“It shall be a marriage of its own accord, one between the old and new—“_

“Is that your Seteth?” Claude asked, eyes wide as the moon.

“Yes, I’ve been working on it. Do you like it?”

Claude bit back a wry smile and tugged again at Byleth’s shirt. “Oh, I love it. Please, continue.”

Byleth carried on, her cheeks blushing a light pink: “Anyhow. We must’ve talked for hours this afternoon, or rather, he talked, and I listened—but I wasn’t really listening.” Byleth’s brow furrowed. She sometimes had to sift through her feelings like a child in a sandbox; emotions were hard for her to name and slipped so easily through her fingers. “I was thinking about you, and how... how badly I wanted to see you. And so—“ Byleth’s blush deepened all at once, and her gaze dropped to the wrinkled sheets.

Claude ducked his head to meet her eyes, his face ablaze with curiosity. “And so...”

“Please, don’t tell anyone I did this,” Byleth said lowly, and she did her best to ignore the absolutely devilish look in Claude’s eyes. “I faked a cold so that I could see you sooner.”

Claude made a show of dropping his jaw in exaggerated shock. “You did not! I’m appalled, wife-to-be. Describe, please! Spare me no detail.”

Byleth felt a giggle forming in her throat. “I... well, I started to cough a bit, in the middle of him triple-checking the menu. And each time I did, he would stop, and give me that _look_ , you know—“

Claude nodded sagely. “I am very familiar with _the look.”_

“And I kept reassuring him, _‘Oh, it’s just a tickle in my throat, I’m really fine, don’t worry!’_ And I... oh Claude, I feel terribly.”

He wriggled closer to her in the bed, eyes sparkling, tangling their legs into a warm knot. “No, no, ‘fess up. Tell me everything. Go on.”

Byleth covered her face from what must be embarrassment, and maybe even _glee_. “I, I faked a sneeze, right onto his notebook!” And now she really was laughing, deep laughs that came from somewhere down in her belly, and she clutched at Claude’s sleep shirt. “It felt so ridiculous! I’ve never done something like that in my life! His _face!_ And, poor Seteth, he, he _insisted_ that I get my rest, and to not lift a finger for the rest of the evening, so I...” Byleth wiped a tear from her eye and observed the wet stain in her palm curiously—Joy can cause tears, too—“I ran here,” and she let out a long, happy exhale: “Impatient.”

His lips were suddenly on her’s, eager, and his hands cupped her cheeks, and if there was only one thing akin to the Divine Pulse in her day-to-day life, it was Claude’s kisses, because time tended to go swimmy at the touch of his lips. He pulled his mouth back, if only to give enough room for a whisper: “Now you know how I’ve felt since the moment we first met—impatient to know every part of you.”

“I’ve always taken you to be an oddly patient man,” Byleth murmured lowly. Few men could carry themselves as cooly as the King of Almyra, despite any odds.

“Far from it,” and Claude brushed his lips against her temple. “Especially then, when the next day or hour wasn’t a given. There was never enough time to plan, or prepare, or train, or sleep, or ask you all these burning questions I had.”

“About my past,” Byleth offered. “My power.”

Claude’s eyes softened. “Sure. But also… your favorite color,” he hummed, “what fears you had, if any. If you liked me. _Especially_ if you liked me.”

“I’m marrying you tomorrow, so at least that answers that,” Byleth said simply.

“You’re right,” Claude said, leaning in, making a show of his satisfaction through a lop-sided smile, “it does.” He traced his fingertips along Byleth’s shoulder and arm and waist. “I have all the time in the world, now. To _know_ you.” He nosed through her hair, kissed her ear. “My love.”

“Lucky you,” Byleth whispered. _Lucky me,_ she meant.

His smile turned impish once again as he pulled her into an even deeper kiss, fingering through her hair with one hand while tugging at her waist with the other. _There was so much to look forward to,_ Byleth wondered between breaths, _so much to discover,_ and her hands wandered up to hold Claude’s wide shoulders, _so much to delight in,_ while she exposed her neck for Claude’s shallow breath, _so much to name._

“I love you, Claude,” Byleth whispered.

 _“Byleth,”_ Claude mouthed along her neck, like little prayers, “my love, Byleth.” He took a deep breath against her skin. “It feels so good to say your name.”

Byleth wrinkled her nose again, _pulling a face._ “Sure beats ‘Ashen Demon’.”

Claude’s head shot up. “That’s not your name,” he said, voice dark.

“It was,” Byleth corrected, feeling something undefinable. Something hollow. “I earned it.”

Claude repeated firmly, “That’s not your name.” And he held her face in his hands again—in the way that made Byleth feel so safe. “Not one you chose, at least.” His eyes twinkled in the dark. “S’pose you didn’t choose Teach, either.”

Byleth tilted her face to give Claude’s palm a small kiss. “I didn’t mind that one so much. It always…” Her words trailed off and her cheeks began to burn, and only burned hotter still at the thought of Claude feeling her blush in his hands.  
  
“By,” he prompted softly, biting his lip with glee.

She tilted her head so that his palm could now shield her blush completely. “It felt like you trusted me. Like I was… more than just an ally. I was _Teach._ ” A realization dawned from within her, like a holy divination. “You were my first true friend.”

Claude stayed quiet for a moment. He lifted his hand to finger at Byleth’s hair. “I should’ve called my best friend by her name.”

“You did,” Byleth stated, matter-of-factly.

Claude only blinked in reply, his hand stilling in her hair.

“You did! Plenty of times, I remember,” she added.

“I’m not saying I don’t trust the half-deity who can’t remember her own age, but I’m also not _not_ saying it—” he began to tease with a wink.

“You jerk,” Byleth laughed, lightly shoving Claude’s cheek, “I’m certain of it, you called me by my name all the…”

It hit her, then, like magic striking—a wave of nausea, sudden and strong, draining all the color from her cheeks and sucking air from her lungs. Byleth’s hand flew to her mouth, skin all cold and clammy, barely able to contain the pitiful noise crying out from her throat.

“Byleth!” Claude nearly shouted, jerking up from his pillow. His hand pressed to her forehead, green eyes flashing alight at the abrupt chill in her skin. “By, what’s wrong.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, gasping through her buzzing fingers, “I’m fine.” _It was only a memory. Things that never came to be—_

Claude cradled her closely, his mouth twisted into a harsh frown. “You’re shaking.”

“I,” Byleth tried again, releasing the hard grip from her mouth and folding into Claude’s chest, “I’m sorry. It’s—” She shuddered, blinking tiny tear stains into his sleep shirt. _Where was the Ashen Demon’s courage now?_ “I’m alright.”

“You’re not alright,” Claude said softly, _miserably_ , cradling her body closer still.

Byleth buried her face further into his chest and gave a small nod.

Her breathing slowly evened, matched in time with Claude’s fingers as he stroked long lines down her scalp and hair and back.

“Please, Byleth.” he gently urged. He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t hide. Let me know.”

Now more than ever she wished to blink through the hours. Anything would be better than… Byleth steeled herself, laying her cheek flat upon Claude’s chest; the soft thump of his heartbeat comforted her more than he could possibly know. “The Divine Pulse,” she said, her mouth suddenly run dry. “Things that were... that never came to be.”  
  
Claude continued to stroke her hair, though his fingers slowed at her words.

“I remember…” Or _misremembered_ , time’s flow was so fickle around her, “I would use the Pulse to protect you, and all of the Golden Deer. If I had any fears, Claude, like you wondered,” and she tilted her head to meet his tender gaze, “it was to lose my students. And worse, to lose the Pulse. What if, at a time I needed it most, I couldn’t turn back the clocks and fix the mistakes I’d made?”

At _mistakes_ Claude’s mouth twitched, as though he wanted to counter her words; instead, he waited. (He was the world’s best listener, and nobody knew it. Back then, Byleth knew he was listening through all of the aloofness he projected because Claude von Riegan always, _always_ required the upper hand. Now she knew he was listening because he cared, _desperately_.)

“But sometimes,” Byleth felt an emptiness in her gut, “sometimes my mistakes only hurt me, gratefully—“

“By,” Claude whispered.

“A fatal misstep, or poorly timed swing,” she continued, sinking into Claude’s chest as countless near-deaths resurfaced, “a second too long spent looking the wrong way. And… the last thing I’d always hear before turning back time,” before _dying_ , before being _shot_ through or _crushed_ or _cleaved in two_ —piercing through the shatter of celestial glass was one voice, _every, single, time,_ “was you, calling out my name.”

_Byleth, no!_

She knew her sobs were groundless; she was here, and Claude was holding her, and tomorrow they’d be married. But her body still shivered, and her tears poured freely, betraying all logic and reason.

Claude laid still as stone, his arms wrapped around her body like tightly bound rope. “How many times.”

The truth was that she couldn’t count them.

“I’m sorry,” Byleth whispered weakly instead. “I didn’t mean to ruin the night.”

“No, By, _never_ ,” Claude pulled her in close, feeling so solid and present, grounding her in _tonight_ , “never in all my life. Byleth,” and he dipped his head to kiss her temple, and her cheek, and down her nose, and her knuckles, whispering _her name_ and _I love you_ with every press of his lips. “I love you, Byleth,” across her mouth, “I love you, Byleth,” in her ear, “Byleth, Byleth,” along her neck and shoulders. He must’ve said it a hundred times, kissed a thousand places. And when he met her eyes again, she was reminded of that giddy _impatience_ —that feeling of looking forward, rather than back. “Every time you hear me say your name, I want you to think of tonight,” he leaned in, his warm breath mixing with her own. “And the rest of our lives. Promise me that.”

And Byleth knew that if she were to wake tomorrow merely _human_ , without a Crest to her name, or Sothis’s gifts at the ready,

she’d live. With so, so much to look forward to,

all with him. With this heart, _his_ heart. One that she could finally call her own.

“Yellow, I think.” Byleth whispered.

That buoyant smile bloomed along Claude’s lips again, one eyebrow cocked. “Hm?” 

“If I had to pick a favorite,” and she kissed that airy grin, “it’d be yellow. And yes, I promise.”

It made her laugh loudly, how wonderfully pleased he looked. 

(And in what nearly felt like no time at all,

Byleth and Claude were married.)


End file.
